


Loving You Was My First Sin

by cassiem



Category: Block B
Genre: M/M, angel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 13:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5968348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiem/pseuds/cassiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an angel, you'd think Jihoon had everything he ever wanted, and you'd be right. But what happens when he comes across the one thing he can't have, the one thing that is forbidden to him: love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> for Nat and Muna; my editors and confidantes <3

_“Knowledge forbidden?_  
_Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord_  
_Envy them that? Can it be a sin to know?_  
_Can it be death?”_  
**John Milton, Paradise Lost**

 _Loving you was my first sin_  
_Hoping you’d look at me was my second sin_  
_I hoped that you at least knew my name_  
**Stellar - Mask**

 

_Falling, falling, the endless feeling of falling. That’s what they’d told him it’d feel like, that he was tipping backwards, his world shifting on its axis. They’d warned him of all that, and he still hadn’t listened; he’d still rushed ahead like he always did, with no regard for the consequences._

_As he falls, the wind whistling in his ears, something occurs to him: he can simply open his wings and fly away, like he’s done so many times before; his wings have been his saviour in times like this, where he’s been in strife. Never mind he can’t remember where he is, or why he’s falling, but he starts to unfurl his wings –_ tries _to – the movement coming as easily to him as breathing, but now –_

_A sharp pain unlike anything he’s ever felt before stabs him right between the shoulder blades, where his wings are, even as he desperately tries to release them – they aren’t unfurling and he doesn’t know why, they’ve never refused to work like this before. He screams, the wordless sounds of agony being ripped away from his mouth by the cruel wind, suddenly terrified._

_It’s that emotion, that sudden paralysing fear that rips through him, that clues him into the fact that something is very, very wrong. He’s an angel, he doesn’t feel fear; he’s been on this earth so long – too long, a niggling voice in the back of his head warns – and yet he’s never felt fear. He opens his eyes, squinting against the buffeting wind, and it all becomes_ clear _as to why he’s afraid, why his wings won’t open to carry him away from here._

_The Earth rushes up towards him and he screams and screams until his throat is hoarse, his heart breaking a thousand times over._

 

_back_

 

Jihoon has always hated waking up. For the eternity that he’s been alive, he’s always loved the peace that sleep can bring; in such a tumultuous world, the only solace he can seem to find of late is through it. He never dreams, mostly just collapses into bed and sleeps like the dead until morning.

He blinks awake one sunny morning and stares at his ceiling for a while, swimming out from the depths of his slumber. He knows instinctively, without having to turn his head, that there will be a letter on his bedside table – handwritten in elegant, looping cursive in a blue pen, the paper thick and weighty and strangely smelling of vanilla. Sure enough, as he sits up and reaches blindly for it, his fingers find the texture of the thick paper and he sighs.

Assignment letters are always dreadful. He’s received countless over the years, and yet every time the knowledge of packing his bags and leaving the home he’s made behind is a bitter pill to swallow. Still, this is his cross to bear, and bear it he shall, so he unfolds the paper and reads, eyes scanning the words quickly. The moment he reads the last word, however, the letter turns to ash in his hands, leaving him with nothing but a fistful of dust.

The letter had told him what he had already suspected – intuition is just one of his gifts. It had informed him, in its insipid flowery cursive, that he is to head to Hongdae, Seoul, South Korea – effective immediately. He doesn’t have to read between the lines to understand what will happen if he doesn’t; he’s witnessed a few smitings over the years, and they’re not pretty.

Sighing, he stands up and stretches, loosening his joints, centering himself and breathing deeply. The itch between his shoulder blades is becoming unbearable – it often is when he gets worked up about things, like now – so he relaxes, letting loose the invisible shackles that bind him and, with the sound of feathers and flapping, his wings unfurl from his back. He spreads them wide, stretching.

To mortal eyes he would look like a God right now – resplendent, naked from the waist up, with huge wings the colour of virgin snow. To them, he knows, he would be radiating with purity and virtue and piety; it would make them weep if they were to look upon him.

Right now, though, he feels none of those things; he feels tired, a little bit thirsty, and he really wants to brush his teeth. So he tucks his wings neatly behind his back and heads to the bathroom, trying to ignore the pounding in his head that he can feel coming on already.

He’s going home.


	2. chapter two

_one month later_

“Youngja.” Jihoon says, swinging the door open wide. “This is a surprise.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Youngja swishes into his room, pale lavender wings twitching, and settles herself on the lounge, laying out her clipboard and paperwork on the coffee table. Even though she hasn’t said a word, there’s an impatient air around her – some things never change – so, rolling his eyes, he shuts the door and makes his way to the kitchen, sticking a glass of water under the tap.

The apartment provided for him is very nice, really. Airy and modern, everything painted and finished in various shades of white and cream. He has no complaints, not concrete ones, anyway. Something about this transfer feels off, though – he hasn’t been able to put his finger on it, but he knows something is different, _wrong_.

He heads back into the lounge room and sets the glass of water on the table in front of Youngja, settling himself on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, drawing his wings around him. Youngja just eyes him for a moment before looking down at her paperwork and clicking her pen ominously.

He hasn’t seen her for centuries, but she hasn’t changed a bit – although that would make sense. Seraphim, like the both of them, have the ability to shape shift, or choose which skin to wear; often if they have a job in Heaven or don’t have need to change skins, they won’t. To his eyes Youngja looks twenty or so, with hair cut in a shapely bob, framing her face. Her facial features are delicate, and coupled with the pale purple of her wings, she almost looks _innocent_.

“Nice artwork.” She mutters without looking up.

He’d taken it upon himself to decorate the apartment, since it was disturbingly minimalist. Above her head hangs a reproduction of a Gustave Doré print – _The Heavenly Hosts._ The irony was not lost on him, but he picked it mainly because he swears one of the angels pictured looks like him. Or looks like he did, once.

“Thanks. It’s from _Paradise Lost._ ” He replies nonchalantly.

Youngja looks up at that, and the irony is apparently not lost on her either, because she cracks a smile. Jihoon blinks – he’s known Youngja for literally an eternity and he’s never seen that before – and is about to say something when the smile is gone, replaced by her usual no-nonsense, stiff expression.

“There’s been a reshuffling of staff in Head Office –” She begins, and he smiles; he _knew_ it! “– So you’ve been reassigned here for now. Try not to let the past get into your head, Jihoon, we all know how good you are at doing that. Now, because there’s been a surplus of staff in this region, which will be fixed soon, you’re going to be running errands until then.”

He raises his eyebrows, and his wings rustle, stretching out as a response to his indignancy. “Running errands?”

She meets his eyes, and he senses pity from her. They both know running errands is below him – _way_ below him – but she has her orders and now, it seems, so does he. “I know. I apologise. It shouldn’t be for more than a year at most.”

He frowns. “Where are all the archangels? Or the nephilim? That’s _their_ job, to be errand boys, not mine.”

Youngja shifts, uncomfortable. He’s asked her a direct question, so she can’t lie; not blatantly, at least. “They are… occupied elsewhere.” She replies, tone clipped.

He gets to his feet, wings spreading wide, quivering with frustration and resentment. He thought at least that if he was brought back here it would be for a good reason; now he has to deal with the news that he’s nothing but Heaven’s messenger, a role he’s been above for a good few millennia now. The bitterness that’s been in his mouth since he got off the plane expands, rushing through his limbs, until he’s clenching his fists, wings poised for take-off.

He feels Youngja’s hand on his arm, the touch transmitting calming thoughts and energy, wreathing him in the smell of lavender. He breathes deeply and consciously retracts his wings so they lie smooth against his back; tamping down the darkness that swirls within him, he smiles at her.

“We all have our moments of weakness.” She murmurs, and part of Jihoon sparks at the insolence, but he swallows it and nods.

“We’re angels. We’re not meant to be weak.” He replies, still smiling.

Youngja doesn’t quite know what to make of that, he can tell, and she removes her hand from his arm like he’s burnt her. Any other day he’d take joy in stumping her, but now he feels off, like his skin doesn’t quite fit; he’s not used to it. His wings are trembling dreadfully as he signs Youngja’s paperwork – one thing that never changes about Heaven is its love for organisation – and sees her out the door.

The moment she’s gone, he turns and sprints for the balcony, leaping off the edge and free falling, feeling the wind rush past his face. The moment he opens his wings and catches the breeze, his soul is at peace. As he flies higher and higher, as if perhaps he could get to Heaven after all, he feels safe. This is his prayer.

//

He’d expected to be on the receiving end of many more assignment letters, so when Jihoon drags himself out of bed the next morning to find one waiting for him on the dining table, he isn’t really surprised – just a bit irritated. With a sigh, he picks it up and reads it, expecting something menial; sure enough, he’s to pick up a package from one end of the city and ferry it to the other end.

He gets dressed quickly and heads out of his apartment. As much as he hates the mornings, early morning in Seoul _is_ beautiful, with very few people out and about – such a contrast to how it will be later in the day. He resigns himself to a long commute and, as he gets on the first train, finds a seat and pulls out his crime novel.

Every being has their failings, and Jihoon’s weakness is crime novels. He’d hesitate to say he is addicted, but he’s always got one on him, just in case he needs to wait for a long time. Like all angels can, he can always go perfectly, inhumanly still and lose himself inside his own head; but where’s the fun in that? Mortals can be so deliciously creative, it would be a shame to miss out on that.

In fact, he’s so engrossed in his novel that he nearly misses his stop, and just manages to make it off the train as the doors close. He finds himself in a busy subway station – a scene familiar to anyone who commutes around the city. He nearly cracks a smile at the chaos; as much as he missed Seoul, he didn’t miss the morning rush.

He turns and starts to walk down the platform, towards the stairs, stuck inside a massive queue of people doing the exact same thing. As he looks around, drinking in all the sights, listening to the language being spoken all around him – oh, how he missed it so! – he feels someone bump into him on his right. He turns, expecting an errant schoolgirl running after her friends, and blinks.

The man, who is staring at him, is exquisitely, impossibly beautiful. Wide eyes hidden behind round glasses, a beret jammed on his head, pink rosebud lips opened in a perfect ‘o’, curious ink marks up and down his arms. They stare at each other for a few moments, Jihoon’s head spinning around and around, making him feel dizzier than flying ever could. He opens his mouth to say something, although words seem to be hard to form, when a wave of acute nausea hits him straight in the gut and he doubles over, grimacing. The itch between his shoulder blades that is always present explodes into a feeling so acute it’s almost bordering on pain; his head swims as he blanches, fighting for control so his wings don’t come out here in the crowded subway.

He feels a hand on his arm, hears a high, melodic voice say, “are you alright?”, and as he looks up at the man, who is wearing an expression of concern, his vision goes black and he _sees_.

_The man, hand still on his arm, being shoved away from him by a group of teenage boys who are fighting –_

_Jihoon, staring helplessly, separated from the man by a seething mass of testosterone and rage, as the man gets pushed and falls –_

_Falls backwards onto the tracks, into the path of the oncoming train–_

_Jihoon’s wings erupting from his back, ripping his shirt, as he screams –_

As he swims back to reality, head still woozy, he straightens up and looks down at the man, still unsure about what happened. Visions always mess with his head, and he takes a moment to come back to himself, feeling almost drunk. The man is staring at him, his fingers digging into Jihoon’s arm, peering up at him worriedly.

Groggily, he stares back at the man, blinking and shaking his head. The man is saying something and it takes a few moments for the words to process.

“Are you alright? What’s your name? Do you need a doctor? Oh, God…” He whimpers, looking around worriedly.

“I’m alright.” He murmurs, and is about to say something more when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a gang of schoolboys approaching, their voices loud and coarse.

All at once the vision comes back to him and he tenses, time seemingly slowing down around him as he watches helplessly as the schoolboys approach, throwing punches. They get closer and closer and he freezes, unsure of what to do, his heart racing.

And then he looks into the wide, trusting eyes of the man and he knows what he must do.

Grabbing the man by the wrist, he pulls him backwards, whirling him around so he’s pinned against the wall, Jihoon’s arms crowding him, keeping him close. He moves in so he’s nearly on top of the man, shielding him from the schoolboys as they jostle and push him, fighting the itch between his shoulder blades, resisting the urge to unfurl his wings and cover them both. As the boys jostle, as the train goes past, he looks back down at the man and loses himself a little in his deep brown eyes.

“What are you doing?” The man asks softly.

“Saving your life.” Jihoon whispers back.

The man’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and, abruptly, the spell breaks and Jihoon realises what he’s doing: pressed chest to chest with a human, the both of them breathing heavily, curious heads turning to look his way. He steps backward into the crowd, his mouth set in a grim line as he turns his back on the man, blending into the mob seamlessly.

As he follows the crowd blindly, reaching back to scratch between his shoulder blades, he forces himself to forget about the man and focus on what he is: an angel, a being of God, forbidden to form attachments.


	3. chapter three

_one month later_

_The church has such an air of reverence and piety that Jihoon almost feels out of place – he should feel at home here, considering he is a tenet of the very religion that it preaches, but he always feels so small and insignificant, his glory incomparable to the wonder of architecture and the atmosphere. This church is no different; a huge, cavernous space with stained glass windows spilling rainbows onto the floor, pews with the wood worn down, a marble statue of Jesus towards the front._

_He approaches the statue and kneels at its feet, a sudden sorrow weighing him down like heavy chains. As he bows his head and clasps his hands together, praying quietly, he relaxes slightly and lets his wings unfurl and stretch out, revelling in the feeling. As he prays, looking up at the statue and crossing himself, his feelings of unease settle and he calms himself._

_“Who are you?”_

_He gets to his feet and whirls around with inhuman speed, wings spread wide, ready to flee; the man is standing in the aisle, looking at Jihoon with wide eyes. He looks the exact same as he did in the subway station, so beautiful that he almost hurts to look at. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, that Jihoon’s wings are out, and that he has power wreathing him._

_Jihoon backs away, shaking his head. “I have many names.”_

_Every ounce of sense he possesses is telling him to retreat, that a mortal seeing him like this cannot end well, but he resists the urge to fly away and keeps backing away from the advancing man, until his back is pressed up against the statue of Jesus, the marble cold on his wings, making him flinch._

_“_ What _are you?” The man asks, coming closer and closer._

 _He can’t lie, he_ can’t _, every time he tries to he comes up against a wall in his mind, the words refusing to form on his lips. The man is looking at him expectantly, and all of a sudden it’s too much so, with one flap of his wings, he rises in the air and soars down the aisle, over the man’s head, out the door and into the sunlight –_

Jihoon gasps awake as a wave of nausea hits him, so intense he feels himself break into a sweat instantly. Head spinning, barely aware of where he is or what he’s doing, he stumbles out of bed, using the wall to support him as he shuffles into the lounge room, vision narrowing, seeking the only thing he instinctively knows will make him feel better. Desperately, feeling around like a blind person, he reaches for the door leading to the balcony, opens it and without hesitation flings himself off the edge, opening his wings and soaring high above the city, mind suddenly calm even as nausea tightens around him like a vice.

//

One thing Jihoon has learnt over the years are that visions – which he doesn’t get all that often, really, so it’s unusual to have two so close to one another – are not set in stone and can be changed. He saw the man dying, being pushed in front of a train accidentally, but that didn’t happen; he wants to ensure that this vision doesn’t come true, either.

So why he’s heading to the church he saw in his dream, he’s not really sure. Morbid curiosity, perhaps. The man has intrigued him in a way that mortals rarely do; there’s a certain spark about him, a _verve_ that he was able to pick up on in the short time that they met. As he weaves his way through people on the footpath, he feels surprisingly apprehensive, a feeling he’s not used to. His control over his wings today is iron; he is determined to make _that_ part of the vision, at least, not come to fruition.

The church is every bit as grandiose as it was in his dream, if anything more so in reality. He crosses himself as he enters the threshold and tries to relax; it’s just a church. He’s been in thousands over the years - in fact he’s sure that in some of them he is depicted in the stained glass in the windows, wearing one of his old faces, known by a name lost to time.

He takes a seat in the front pew and waits, closing his eyes and retreating into his mind. He’d much rather be flying right now; that’s how he gets close to God, not by forcing himself to kneel on hard floors and contemplate verses that he knows by heart. He figures that, as an angel, he does enough good to be spared that.

“You!” A melodic voice comes from behind him and he turns his head slightly, seeing the man approach from his peripheral vision.

His wings itch dreadfully, dying to come out, but he doesn’t even consider it, instead arranges his features into an expression of surprise and meets the man’s eyes. The dream version of the man pales in the face of the real thing; nothing compares to flesh and blood, after all. One thing the dream did get right, however, was his inability to lie; he will have to be careful and use half-truths, change the subject and skip over questions. This mortal cannot know what he is.

“Hello.” He replies cordially.

The man sits next to him, staring at him like he has a second head. “Who are you? I mean, it’s a pretty small world to see you in the subway and then here. Talk about coincidences!”

Jihoon hides a smile. The man is obviously a nervous babbler. “My name is Jihoon. This is my local church.” He raises one shoulder in a shrug, as if coincidences were nothing to him.

The man’s eyes light up. “Oh, really? Mine too! My name is Taeil.”

“Taeil.” Jihoon cocks his head, tasting the syllables. “Nice to meet you.”

Taeil sits back in the pew and stares at the statue, his expression unreadable. Jihoon waits patiently, resisting the urge to probe the man’s mind and draw out the question he can tell Taeil is dying to ask.

“What… What happened in the subway?” Taeil turns to him, their knees brushing. “You said you saved my life.”

“You were going to get pushed onto the tracks by the students.” He answers frankly, thankful that he doesn’t have to lie.

Taeil’s eyes widen, his lips part, and Jihoon stares at the pink of his flesh dumbly, just barely listening to what Taeil is saying.

“Thanks… I think.” Taeil says, voice uncertain. Jihoon doesn’t even _have_ to read his mind to know that he thinks Jihoon is an oddity, perhaps crazy; but still he stays.

That’s alright. Mortals have always found him odd; he doesn’t quite know how to talk to them or what to say, and they find his way of speaking archaic and old fashioned. Normally mortals are amusing to him, nothing more - as a Seraphim, he doesn’t worry about the lives and affairs of mortals; that’s the job of the Archangels. Even though he has been on Earth for a long time now, mortals to him, still, are nothing but ants scurrying around his feet, generally.

Hence the oddity of his visions. Never before has he experienced them about one human; usually his visions are showing general events on Earth, or refer to great battles between Heaven and Hell - not mortals.

Realising he’s been off in his own head while Taeil is staring at him, he shakes himself and smiles. “This is a beautiful church. I love stained glass.”

If Taeil is taken aback by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah, they’re really pretty. Especially when it’s sunny, like now.”

Taeil shifts slightly, and Jihoon realises that their thighs are pressed up against one another. He blinks down at their legs, realising that he’s never quite touched a mortal like this before. That thought makes his wings itch so he stands up abruptly and walks over to one of the windows, staring up at the panels.

He hears the creak of the pew as Taeil gets up and follows him. “Do you like angels?”

Jihoon bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The panel they’re staring at depicts a female angel, her arms spread wide, brown wings posed regally behind her. She’s dressed in a white robe, tied at the waist with a length of rope, and behind her head is a halo. He gazes at her face, but doesn’t recognise the depiction. “Yes. I do.”

“I liked learning about them in school.” Taeil murmurs, and Jihoon feels the heat of his body off to his right. “They were always so regal, with their halos and wings.”

Biting his tongue to keep from mentioning that angels don’t have halos when they’re on Earth, he nods. “I enjoy learning about angels, too. I know quite a bit.”

“Tell me something.” Taeil says, his voice dipping low.

The words are on the tip of his tongue - _you are standing next to an angel as we speak!_ \- but he swallows them. “Do you know about the hierarchy of angels?”

Jihoon turns to face Taeil, so he can see the human shake his head. “At the top are Seraphim, who usually stay in Heaven, and are responsible for the defence of Heaven and her borders. Then come Cherubim, who have four faces and four wings. Underneath that are Archangels, who are responsible for the affairs of mortals. Lastly, Nephilim, the offspring of men and angels.”

“Angels can have children?” Taeil asks, his voice full of reverence. He’s not backing away from Jihoon, unnerved because of his oddly specific knowledge of angels; he is transfixed, eyes wide.

Jihoon shakes his head, and his heart hurts just thinking of it. “If an angel has offspring with a human, the angel falls and becomes a demon. Consorting with humans is forbidden.”

The words ring out across the church, as if a Heaven-sent reminder that _he_ is consorting with a human as he speaks. Subtly, he shape shifts on a watch - he hates to use his powers in the everyday, but if a situation ever called for it, it’s now. Taking a slight step back, he looks down at his watch and feigns surprise.

“It was lovely talking to you.” He says, too loud, making Taeil blink and take a step back as well. “But I have to go now. Will I see you around?”

Taeil shrugs, smiling slightly. “This is our local church, so I suppose so. See you later, Jihoon.”

Trying to ignore the way Taeil saying “our” sent a secret thrill through him, he turns and walks down the aisle, making his way to the back of the church. At the doorway, he pauses and glances over his shoulder to see Taeil still staring at the stained glass panel of the angel, lost in thought.


	4. chapter four

_two months later_

Time passes quickly for Jihoon, as it has always done. One day the calendar on his wall says October, and then he seemingly blinks and it’s December.

Christmas in Heaven was a sight to behold; such festivities, such colour, such joy shining through every facet of the realm, through every being. He hasn’t been to Heaven in what seems like an eternity – although it cannot be more than two millennia – and as he sits on his lounge, alone in his empty, sterile apartment, he realises he misses it, with a fierceness that surprises him. He wants to be amongst others, feel the heat from other bodies around him, feel a _part_ of something bigger than he.

Perhaps that’s why he falls off his balcony into the inky blackness of the night, spreading his wings and calling darkness and night to him as a cloak as he flies towards the church, somehow seeking solace in an unfamiliar place. He knows somehow that Taeil will be there, and perhaps it’s that that keeps his wings beating against the air strongly, driving him forward.

He’s spared more than a few thoughts for the human over the past few months; Heaven still has him running errands and it has him terribly bored, the hours of each day seemingly stretching forward into endless bouts of tedium. He’s churned through more crime novels than he can count – a desperate bid to keep himself from going mad from the monotony. Still, every time he caught the subway his thoughts strayed to Taeil.

He lands in front of the church gracefully, lifting the cloak that surrounds him and becoming visible, retracting his wings and blending in easily as he enters the church. He crosses himself as he spans the threshold, taking a seat in a middle pew, listening to the priest as he preaches. His sermon tonight is about, of course, the birth of Christ, and the miracle that it was; Jihoon closes his eyes and listens to the priest’s melodic voice, hears the coughs and shuffles of the mortals all around him, and his soul begins to soothe; he is not alone, not tonight.

The sermon finishes all too quickly and as the crowds of people begin to disperse, heading towards the front to speak with the priest or each other, Jihoon follows them mindlessly, not really caring where the tide of people takes him, just knowing he still doesn’t want to be alone. With a start, he looks up and realises he’s staring at the stained glass of the angel again; tonight she is dark, her features blurry, unable to be seen.

“Jihoon.” Taeil says from behind him, and he turns, the crowd melting away as he meets the mortal’s big brown eyes, smiling slightly.

He shifts, ignoring the itch between his shoulderblades that has sprung up with a vengeance. “Taeil. Merry Christmas.” He bows his head courteously at him.

Taeil moves closer to him. “Merry Christmas. Are you here with anyone?” He peers around, as if expecting to see family or friends; Jihoon smiles sadly, unable to share the truth – that being an angel is both an unbelievable blessing and an insurmountable curse – a painful cross to bear, for he will always be lonely.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just me.” He pauses, searching around in his head for the human term. “I’m having an orphan’s Christmas, it seems.”

“Everyone’s welcome here, including orphans.” Taeil says, his voice masking the pity that lurks in his eyes; Jihoon just continues smiling graciously and shrugs, as if to say, _what can you do?_

Taeil’s eyes go to the stained glass panel over his shoulder, and he can see the words forming on the human’s lips – _angels again?_ – when, as he watches curiously, a beautiful woman holding a baby comes up to Taeil and says something quietly, staring at Jihoon with interest.

“Jihoon, this is my sister, Nari. Nari, this is Jihoon, a…” Taeil pauses, as if weighing up the right word to use. “... A friend of mine.” He finishes, with a small, shy smile.

“Nice to meet you, Nari. And who is that?” Jihoon eyes the baby. One quite annoying side effect of being an angel is that babies and young children are drawn to him; perhaps they can see Heaven’s influence wreathing him, or perhaps he’s just soothing to be around. Sure enough, the baby in Nari’s arms starts wriggling furiously, reaching for him, its face scrunching up.

“Nice to meet you too, Jihoon.” Nari smiles widely at him. “This is Hyunwoo.” She nods at the baby in her arms, who has started to cry now, reaching desperately for Jihoon.

Sighing, he takes a step closer and leans down so he’s eye to eye with the infant; it stops crying and stares at him curiously, before smiling widely, reaching to tug on a strand of his hair. He smiles back, wincing slightly at the pain, before looking up at Nari, who is looking at him with awe.

“Wow. He normally doesn’t like strangers. You must be special.” She says, and he laughs, ignoring the twinge of sadness her words bring. “Good choice in friends, Taeil.” She nods at her brother, before turning away, heading towards the tables of food set out.

For the first time Jihoon realises this really _is_ an orphan’s Christmas, and, like him, there are other loners milling around, helping themselves to food and speaking to the congregation who remain. It’s such a sense of community, such a sense of _belonging_ that he blinks and looks away, down at Taeil, who is staring at him openly.

“Friend?” Jihoon asks, frank curiosity in his voice.

Taeil looks down at his feet, and Jihoon can see the blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah. Friends. If you’d like.”

Wondering what on earth Taeil is thinking, considering the only interactions he’s had with Jihoon so far have been odd to say the least, he nods. “I would like that.” He says softly.

He’s not allowed to consort with humans. He’s forbidden from falling in love. But there are no rules about friendship – so it’s not really _breaking_ any rules. Or at least that’s how he justifies it to himself as he walks over to the table and takes a plate carefully, staring at the food and marvelling at the generosity of the congregation and everyone who organised this.

Taeil follows him, having taken Hyunwoo from his sister, balancing the child on his hip expertly. The baby, of course, starts to wail, reaching for Jihoon again; Taeil bounces him, but he continues to cry, tears streaking down his face. Out of a slight annoyance rather than any proper good will – he tries, he really does, but he just doesn’t understand children – Jihoon places his plate down on the table and holds his arms out. Taeil hesitates for only a second before placing Hyunwoo in his arms, and Jihoon shifts the child to his hip, holding him the same way Taeil did. Instantly he falls quiet, staring at Jihoon with wide eyes.

“That really is odd.” Taeil says, picking up Jihoon’s plate for him. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

Jihoon shrugs. “Children are drawn to me.”

“It’s like cats.” Taeil says, apropos of nothing. Jihoon raises an eyebrow at him, and he continues, in between mouthfuls of food. “You know, if you have a room full of people and a cat, and all the people but one like cats so they start calling the cat – well, it won’t listen, will it? It will go to the one person who’s allergic, and who’s ignoring it desperately.”

Taken aback by Taeil’s astuteness, Jihoon can only blink. “I am not allergic to children.”

“No, but I can tell you’re indifferent about them.” Taeil says, smiling with his eyes. “I’m pretty observant.”

Ignoring how the words send a shiver down his spine – this mortal _cannot know!_ – He nods, and looks down at the child in his arms. “This one is alright.”

That makes Taeil laugh, and the sound of Taeil laughing beautifully for _him_ has him smiling too, watching as the human nearly chokes on the piece of chicken he was eating, the both of them dissolving into more laughter as Taeil accidentally spits out a bit of chicken skin. Hyunwoo joins in, too – the three peals of laughter ringing out across the church.

“That is revolting.” He mutters, straight faced – but Taeil looks at him with a deadpan expression and they both burst into laughter all over again.

Nari appears, seemingly out of nowhere, raising her eyebrow at the two men. “I think it’s Hyunwoo’s bedtime. Don’t want him to get over-excited.” She says, smiling slightly, reaching for her son. “Come on. Time for bed.”

“No!” Hyunwoo shrieks, clinging to Jihoon desperately. Taken aback – he didn’t even know the child could speak – he peels him off his shoulder and holds him out to Nari, who takes him gratefully, even as he kicks and sobs desperately.

“Definitely overtired.” She mutters, throwing an apologetic glance at Jihoon. “Sorry. I’ll see you outside, Taeil.”

Taeil nods and puts the plate down, looking at Jihoon the same way she just did, and he is struck by the similarities between them. “I drove her here, so I need to go, too. But, hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

A direct question – he cannot lie. Not that he really wants to, anyway. “Nothing.”

Taeil smiles widely. “Meet me here at around midday? I have something I want to show you.”

Jihoon nods, a happy warmth spreading underneath his breastbone, the itch between his shoulders fading quickly. “I’ll see you then.”

“Alright. Bye!” Taeil calls as he hurries down the aisle after his sister. Jihoon watches him go, his mind swirling with thoughts that come too fast for him to get a proper read on. For the first time in a while, he feels _happy_. He feels safe.


	5. chapter five

“Sorry I’m late.” Taeil says, from his left; Jihoon jumps out of his skin, leaping about a foot in the air.

“Taeil!” He gasps. “You scared the – the life out of me.” He falters, tripping over his words. For a moment there he’d been about to use a phrase common amongst angels; _you scared the wings off me!_ Thank goodness he didn’t.

Taeil smiles, his hair flopping into his eyes. “Sorry, again. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s alright. I was simply meditating.” Jihoon gets up and stretches, his bones clicking, muscles lengthening. “What did you want to show me?”

“Not here, silly. It’s at the library. Come on.” Taeil says, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the aisle.

Ignoring the frisson that runs through him at the feel of Taeil’s hand around his, he follows, feet suddenly clumsy as he trails after the mortal, not entirely sure he has a choice in the matter. As always, when he’s around Taeil, the control over his wings is suddenly tenuous, but he pushes it down, ignores. Maybe he can pretend to be human for a day.

//

“Look!” Taeil says, bringing the book over to the table, sitting down heavily. “Angels.”

Jihoon just stares at the book as Taeil opens it and begins flicking through. It’s huge and old, and looks like no one has touched it in years, judging by the dust on the front cover. But still he sits and stares, blinking slowly. Taeil had done research – for him. He’d brought Jihoon here to show him this book deliberately. Taeil had been thinking of him.

He shakes himself, paying heed to the warning that shivers down his spine. This mortal cannot know. It simply is not an option. So, turning his full attention on Taeil, he smiles. “Show me.”

“Okay. After the last time we spoke, I went here and looked at all the books they had on angels. You made me remember how cool I thought they were,” Taeil says bashfully, raising one shoulder in a shrug. “And I found this one. It’s reasonably old. You seemed to know a bit about angels, so I thought I’d show it to you.”

“Yes, I have…” He pauses, looking for the word, “...Studied angels before.” He pulls the book towards him and looks through it, observing the old-fashioned way of writing and beautiful, inked illustrations. He turns the page and freezes, the image on the page swimming up towards him – an image of a beautiful man, with light blonde hair and wide, green eyes. A face he hasn’t worn for millennia. A name he had forgotten.

“He’s cool looking,” Taeil says, shifting closer, his hair brushing Jihoon’s shoulder. “I didn’t realise angels took up weapons.”

Even through his shock, he nods. “Yes, they can wield Heavenly weapons in defence only.” He mutters, lost in the illustration of himself, garbed in a robe, holding a sword and shield and looking entirely too fierce and angry. “Or so the texts say.” He adds as an afterthought.

It is true that angels mingled among humans in the Old Times, and it’s true that he was one of them. But, goodness, he didn’t expected to see himself in this book – it has shocked him down to his core. Swimming back to himself, he blinks and looks up at Taeil, who is looking at him.

“They look so magnificent.” He adds, sitting back, every instinct he has screaming at him to _deflect!_ “Why do you like angels so much?”

Taeil shrugs. “I don’t know. I just do, I guess. They represent everything that’s good about God.”

“That makes sense.” Jihoon nods, and they lapse into an oddly comfortable silence, Taeil picking his nail, Jihoon staring at a loose thread on his jeans.

“So, what do you do? I never really asked.” Taeil says, breaking the silence.

“I am between jobs at the moment.” Jihoon chooses his words carefully. “I just do odd-jobs for people. What about you?”

Taeil grins, and it changes his face so completely that Jihoon smiles back stupidly. “It’s a story you’ve probably heard a thousand times before. Struggling musician, trying to make ends meet, busking on the street.”

“That sounds like a plot from a drama.” Jihoon admits, and Taeil laughs, disguising it with a cough.

Leaning forward so his elbows are on the table, Taeil props his chin up on his hand and beams. “If my life was a plot to a drama, something weird would have to happen.” He pauses, pondering. “Like the ‘girl of my dreams’ –” he accompanies this with air quotes “– being an alien or something.”

“Or she could be an angel.” Jihoon deadpans, winking, and him and Taeil both collapse into laughter, slapping the table heavily.

“Or that.” Taeil concedes. “Or maybe she’s a vampire. Grr!” He bares his teeth, fingers clenched into claws, and jumps at Jihoon, sending the both of them into peals of laughter. Abstractly, as they both lean back in their chairs, ignoring the glares of the others around them, Jihoon realises he’s never laughed with a mortal like this before. Well, he’s never even _spoken_ to a mortal this much before, let alone laughed with them.

Acting on an instinct that comes from somewhere low in his belly, he leans across the table and touches Taeil on the back of the hand. Instantly, the feeling between his shoulderblades sharpens acutely into an itch that’s so strong he swears he can _feel_  his wings, barely underneath his skin, aching to come out; he breathes in sharply and refocuses, imagining his wings disappearing into nothing even as he speaks. “Would you like to get coffee after this?”

“You read my mind.” Taeil replies, and Jihoon smiles back wanly. He didn’t read Taeil’s mind, of course, but he could have if he wanted to.

Standing up, Jihoon shuts the book carefully, closing away his past, once again forgetting the face he used to wear. “Let’s go. I know the perfect place.”

//

The moment he bids Taeil goodbye, he turns into an alleyway, calling darkness to him with deep breaths until he’s completely hidden to mortal eyes. His wings have steadily become more and more unbearable as the night drew on; towards the end he knows he was jumpy and twitchy, barely having control. As he takes a deep breath, he lets go, finally letting his wings erupt from his skin with a cry of pleasure and relief, not caring that his shirt tears. He leaps straight up into the air and flies towards the moon, hanging low and swollen in the sky, the colour of rust.

He’d spent the whole day and most of the evening with Taeil, and he’d found it as easy and natural as breathing, which unnerved him. Angels are solitary creatures for many reasons; it makes it easy to be loyal to God and Heaven, for one. It makes it easier for them to focus on their jobs, for another. Jihoon in particular doesn’t like to get close to people – defending Heaven’s borders is, after all, a hard, thankless job, and it’s one he will undertake for eternity. It’s just easier if he’s alone.

Up until now, though, alone hasn’t meant lonely. He hasn’t felt this odd feeling of pain, of sadness, for years now; not since – not since Samkiel. He shies away from that name, from the name of the angel who was once his closest friend, and flies towards the north, wings beating strongly against the air, pushing him up and up.

He doesn’t realise he’s weeping until he’s so high that he finds it hard to breathe. He can’t die, of course, but if he keeps going he will faint and fall back to Earth, and the crater he leaves will not be inconspicuous. Staring up at the moon, tears streaking their way down his cheeks, weeping for Samkiel and for his other fallen comrades, for every wretched soul that walks the earth, he prays for them all.

“Te Deum laudámus: te Dominum confitémur. Te ætérnum Patrem omnis terra venerátur.” He murmurs, the rightness of the words flowing through him as he bows his head. “Tibi omnes Angeli; tibi cæli et univérsae potestátes. Tibi Chérubim et Séraphim incessábili voce proclámant: Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dóminus Deus Sábaoth.”

 _To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, Holy, Holy, Holy: Lord God of Hosts_. He folds his wings and falls to Earth like a missile, the words repeating over and over in his head, his soul temporarily soothed.


	6. chapter six

_two months later_

“Look _alive_ , Jihoon!” Youngja hisses as they enter the café, and Jihoon rolls his eyes at her. She might be acting as his boss right now, but if the two of them were forced to come to blows, he knows he would come out on top.

The violence of that thought shocks him a little bit. It’s out of character for him; he’s not like that. He was always the peaceful one. The apathetic one. Issuing himself a stern reminder to keep a check on his thoughts, he takes a seat at the table set out for them and sighs.

Angelic meetings only happen once every three months or so. This café is owned by one of the city’s angels, a Nephilim whose name he forgot; it serves as a convenient meeting place for them – outside opening hours like now, of course, away from the watchful eyes of mortals and demons alike. As he settles in the chair, the tips of his wings trailing on the floor, he meets the eyes of the other seven angels around the table and returns their nods.

He and Youngja are the only two Seraphim present – the rest are Archangels, Cherubim or Nephilim. He picks at a mark on his pants and stares at the ground resolutely as Youngja, prim and proper as always, starts the meeting. There are a million other places he’d rather be right now – flying, reading, sleeping, hanging out with Taeil; he’d even take being in church over this.

As if on cue, his newly purchased mobile phone vibrates in his pocket and he flinches. He’s never had one before – he’s never had a need for one – but Taeil had insisted ( _‘How else am I going to keep in contact with you?’_ ) so, reluctantly, he’d gone out and purchased one a few weeks ago. Sliding the phone out of his pocket surreptitiously and looking at it under the table, he sees it’s Taeil texting him – not that he really expected anyone else, as Taeil’s number is the only one he has saved.

He and the mortal have struck up a firm friendship, seeing each other twice a week or more, catching up over coffee or going on walks around the city together. Taeil makes him laugh like nothing else on Earth (or Heaven, for that matter), and he is so enjoyable to be around, always parroting random facts about fish or his tattoos or music. Sometimes, if he is in a good mood, he will burst out into song randomly, and that is truly a blessing; Taeil’s voice is angelic.

 _‘Someone dropped a fifty into my hat just now. Wanna go out? My shout.’_ Taeil has texted him, and Jihoon finds himself smiling slightly as he texts back hesitantly, his thumbs still not used to the screen of this small device.

Alcohol doesn’t affect him, but he is very good at acting (although that raises the philosophical question: is acting drunk, technically, a lie?) so he’s in. _‘Of course. I can probably drink you under the table, though.’_

The reply is instant. _‘Alright, it’s on. Meet me here in half an hour?’_ Attached to the text is an address that Jihoon memorises with one glance. He texts back a quick affirmative and slips the phone back in his pocket, raising his eyes to meet Youngja’s glare.

“As I was _saying_ , Hellish invasions are down this quarter…” She says, rather pointedly, before looking down at her paperwork and pausing.

Jihoon retreats into his head, looking all the world a perfectly attentive angel, but inside he’s bored to death. At least with Samkiel there was someone to laugh with; the two of them would snigger at Youngja’s choice of words, or the way she got more and more worked up at the two of them. Once she’d even thrown a clipboard straight at Jihoon’s head, and Samkiel had fallen to the floor in mirth.

That thought sends a straight shot of pain into his heart and he blanches. He tries not to think about Samkiel for that exact reason – it just hurts too much. He hasn’t seen his friend since – since that night, and that’s for the best. Samkiel is dead to him.

He refocuses on what Youngja is saying, drawing his wings closer for comfort instinctually, focusing on the fact that he’ll be seeing Taeil shortly – that thought making him smile.

//

“Sorry I’m late!” He rushes up to Taeil and pulls the human in for an unexpected hug. “A meeting ran overtime.”

Taeil, who is already tipsy – Jihoon doesn’t have to smell his breath or observe the way his eyes are glassy to know that, it’s just one of those angel things – hugs him back enthusiastically, hands sliding around Jihoon’s waist, nestling his head in the crook of Jihoon’s shoulder.

The bar is crowded, but the moment is strangely intimate, and Jihoon sighs, nestling his head into Taeil’s hair, suddenly aware of how desperate he is for simple physical contact like this. Taeil is so warm, and his hands – which are rubbing slow circles on his lower back now – are so gentle. The bar fades away until it’s just the two of them like this, and Jihoon feels himself relaxing, letting loose the control over his wings, feeling them begin to slip forth –

 _NO!_ His instincts scream, and he opens his eyes, suddenly painfully aware of where he is and, most importantly, _what_ he is. Tamping down on his wings, he reluctantly pulls back out of Taeil’s arms and takes a seat on the bar stool next to him, catching the eye of the bartender and asking for a gin and tonic.

He turns to Taeil and sees the mortal regarding him with a soft, warm expression, one he’s not seen before, and it catches him off guard. As quickly as it appeared, however, it’s gone, and Taeil looks down at floor. “How was your meeting?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Dull. You know how these things are.” He looks up to see his gin and tonic has arrived, and takes a sip. “What did you get up to today?”

Taeil’s face lights up as he begins speaking, and Jihoon settles in, watching the way he gestures, watching his facial expressions, and as he does so, a warm, content feeling settles over him. Yes, he really could stay like this forever.

//

They’ve ended up at another bar. This one is quieter, more moody; the lights are dim and they’ve managed to secure a table somewhere at the back, intimate and secluded. Taeil is nursing a beer now, and he’s running his thumbnail along a grain in the wood of the table, telling a story of an old woman who had danced along to his busking in the street earlier this morning, kissing him on the cheek as she left, slipping him the money that had paid for their drinks tonight.

“...It was the strangest thing! Everyone was laughing and smiling. It was great.” His face twists, and pain flashes across his face, making Jihoon sit up straight, prepared for danger. “I… I saw my ex, though.”

“Your ex.” The word tastes funny on his tongue. “Did she speak to you?”

Taeil’s face twists again, and the sight of him in pain makes Jihoon’s stomach do a backflip. “Jihoon… Ah.” He draws a hand over his face, looking all of a sudden a million years old. “How do I say this?”

Jihoon shifts in his seat. He has committed some transgression, crossed some conversational line that he is not familiar with. “Taeil…” He begins, reaching across the table to touch Taeil on the back of the hand. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if that is the case.”

“No! No, you didn’t say anything wrong.” Taeil smiles at him, but he moves his hand backwards, out of Jihoon’s reach. “But… Jihoon, you should know that I’m gay.”

Well, he hadn’t seen that coming, but it doesn’t shock him or disgust him. As an angel, designed to love everyone equally, he’s never quite understood the hatred and distrust of those who were gay; it seemed perfectly natural to him. Realising, belatedly, that Taeil is looking at him worriedly, he smiles. “I don’t mind.”

The relief in Taeil’s eyes is palpable, and the tense atmosphere eases. “Thank God. I was a bit worried, because you’re so religious and all.” Taeil blurts, then blushes, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Not that I mean anything by that! It’s just, you know, the Church is against people like me…”

“No.” Jihoon interrupts, shaking his head. “No. I don’t believe that for a second.”

He doesn’t believe it because it’s not true. God has bigger and better things to worry about than man loving man or woman loving woman; it’s just not something that is worried about or even discussed as a problem. He wants to ease some of the fear he can feel in Taeil’s heart, fear that his God does not love him – but how could anyone not love Taeil, a being so righteous and good it hurts his soul to even think about?

Taeil chews his lip as he looks at him. “What do you believe?”

Doing what feels right, what his instincts tell him to, he circles his fingers around Taeil’s wrist. “I believe that God does not mind who you love, as long as you love Him as well.” He answers honestly, hating himself for not being able to give Taeil the full truth, give him his guarantee. This seems enough, however, as Taeil sags his shoulders, like a great weight has been lifted off them.

“What about you?” He asks earnestly, taking a swig from his beer.

Jihoon blinks. “Am I gay?”

Taeil blushes so fiercely Jihoon can practically _feel_ the heat coming off him. “N-no,” he stammers, picking at the label on the bottle. “I mean… Do you have any exes?”

Shaking his head, Jihoon represses a sigh, utterly confused about the heavy weight of sorrow on his chest at the mention of ‘exes’. “No, I do not. I have ex-friends and ex-enemies, but no ex-boyfriends or -girlfriends.”

“Wow.” Taeil says, his eyebrows raising, and Jihoon can’t tell if it’s because of the ex-friend quip or because of his admission that he likes both sexes. It’s not _really_ an admission, though. All angels do. Heavenly love of everyone is one thing, however. Carnal love is something different altogether, something forbidden. A sin.

The one thing he can never have.


	7. chapter seven

“Jihoonie,” Taeil sings as he drops his keys and stoops to pick them up. “Tall Jihoonie!”

“That’s me.” Jihoon says patiently, sliding the arm that was slung around Taeil’s shoulders down, to support the smaller man, holding him up. “And you’re drunk.”

Taeil nods very seriously as he slots his key into the lock of his apartment and turns the handle. “And short.”

Jihoon laughs, helping Taeil across the threshold and guiding him over to the bed, turning to take in the space. The studio apartment is wide and open, and, in a stark contrast to Jihoon’s own cold, clinical apartment, is lived in and very human. There’s posters and artwork littering the walls; as Taeil pulls his shirt over his head shamelessly, he averts his eyes and wanders around the room, looking at the walls, stepping over bric-a-brac and laundry on the floor.

“You can look now.” Taeil says, amidst a yawn. “I’m decent.”

Jihoon turns and sees the human tucked into bed, the covers pulled up to his armpits, smiling sheepishly. “You’re never decent, Taeil,” Jihoon teases as he approaches, taking a seat on the bed as Taeil moves over so he can fit.

Taeil, moving sleepily – Jihoon can feel he’s still heavily intoxicated – fumbles for Jihoon’s hand and finds it, intertwining his fingers with the other man’s and sighing happily. They sit in contentedness for a few moments. Because he’s so drunk, Taeil is easy to read, his thoughts and feelings practically broadcasting across the room, and Jihoon feels nothing but happiness and serenity and love radiating from him, shining through his every pore.

“Go to sleep.” Jihoon whispers, bending down to brush his lips against Taeil’s forehead, the taste of this forbidden touch sending a thrill through him. “I will stay.”

Taeil rolls over sleepily, exposing his back to Jihoon, as adorned with tattoos as the rest of him. “Okay. I will sleep,” he parrots, deepening his voice in a parody of Jihoon’s, “while you watch over me like a guardian angel.”

A shock runs through him as he retreats to the soft, worn leather sofa in the corner of the room and sits heavily. It’s just the alcohol, he _knows_ that, but unease still runs through him. Not as strongly as before but still, it is there. He watches Taeil, waiting until he can feel nothing but sleep coming from the other man’s thoughts, and, shucking off his shirt, lets his wings unfurl quietly, sighing as they stretch out.

Pulling out his crime novel from seemingly midair, he crosses his legs underneath him and begins to read, his wings tucking themselves neatly against his back, losing himself completely in his book.

“Jihoon.” Taeil mumbles and, in a flash, Jihoon is by his side, hovering over his bed, his novel forgotten on the sofa.

He realises instantly that Taeil is still sleeping, his eyes shut. He appears to be having a bad dream, however – his legs kicking restlessly, head turning. “Jihoon.” He mumbles again, features furrowed into a frown.

“Taeil.” He touches Taeil gently on the shoulder. “I am here.”

Taeil, still lost in sleep, calms down slightly. “Jihoon. You gotta run. The spiders with the windows are coming.”

A smile splits Jihoon’s face in two as he continues to touch Taeil’s shoulder, his neck, and his cheek – anywhere he can reach – soothingly. “I won’t run from spiders with windows.” He replies, having to hold in his laughter.

“Good.” Taeil’s hand comes up to find his and with a _tug_ he pulls Jihoon into bed with him, Jihoon’s wings spreading and flapping uselessly as he falls.

Panicking, Jihoon manages to angle himself so he falls off to Taeil’s side and not directly on top of him, and listens to the man’s thoughts, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. But he has no reason to worry; Taeil is still asleep, his face smoothing out into an expression of peace.

Pulling himself up into a sitting position and tucking his legs under him, Jihoon shakes his head and smiles. It would not do for Taeil to find him in bed with him in the morning, so he can only stay for a little while. Still, the bed is comfortable enough and, as Taeil rolls over, flinging his arm over so it rests on Jihoon’s legs, there are worse places to be.

It hits him then, with alarming clarity: he loves this human. Really, properly loves him – not just in the way that angels are meant to love anyone. He wants to hold Taeil close, hold hands with him, even kiss him, and those are desires that no angel is supposed to have.

His first emotion is panic, and his wings spread wide – so wide the tips brush the walls of the tiny apartment – and quiver, reflecting his turmoil inside. He claps his hands over his mouth to keep from crying out, because he should know better, he _does_ know better, this is forbidden! It is forbidden and wrong and _unacceptable!_ He has always been apathetic, but never outright disobedient – how could he allow himself to feel these things?

But then Taeil shifts a little, and his thoughts get a little louder, and all Jihoon can discern from them is peace, and joy, and all things good: this human’s soul is pure, like a supernova; this calms him slightly and, with difficulty, he pulls his wings close to him, wrapping them around him and ducking his head so he is hidden within their fluffy folds. His heart is racing, his pulse is jumping, and for the first time in his life he feels fear, tastes its sweetness in his mouth. This is wrong, it cannot be – and yet it is! For the first time in his life, he empathises with Eve. She was curious, too curious - it was her downfall and the downfall of all humanity. Forbidden fruit is their fatal flaw, the both of them.

Wrapped in his wings he begins to weep, alone and afraid.

 


	8. chapter eight

After some time, he raises his head. Taeil continues to sleep quietly, a small, secret smile on his face, and a great peace settles over him. He has gone too far to turn back now and, anyway, he doesn’t really want to. In the eternity he’s spent drifting over the Earth and through Heaven, he’s never really been _alive_ , he’s never felt anything like this before. Love burns through him, amplifying his powers; he’s overflowing with it, spilling over – love is everywhere.

He smiles and wipes away his tears, retracting his wings and, gently, climbing over Taeil to return to his sofa and his novel, still sniffling slightly. Within a second he’s lost in the pages of his book again, happy at least for this small distraction.

“Jihoon?” Taeil calls, but it’s most definitely a more lucid voice this time, and Jihoon sits up straight, looking over at the bed, realising that hours have passed and it’s morning already.

Taeil squints at him, hair messy and ruffled. When he speaks his voice is like gravel. “Did you… Did we…” He trails off, propping himself on an elbow, taking in Jihoon’s shirtlessness and his own near nakedness. “Uh…”

He doesn’t understand what Taeil is asking, and it must show on his face because Taeil, blushing, gestures between them. “Last night, did we…?”

He blushes too at the realisation, and shakes his head vehemently. “No! No. I helped you home, and then you fell asleep. I sat here and read. We didn’t… There was nothing untoward.”

Is he imagining things, or is that a flash of disappointment in Taeil’s eyes? The mortal sits up and stretches, and the expression is gone. Jihoon resists the urge to brush his mind to find out, and speaks instead. “How is your head?”

Taeil smiles ruefully at that. “Pounding. Sore. But I’ll be alright. You didn’t have to stay last night, you know.”

“I know.” He nods. “But I wanted to.”

Taeil smiles widely and swings out of bed, adjusting his pyjama shorts as he heads to the bathroom. Jihoon can’t stop himself from staring at Taeil’s broad back, and how smooth his skin is, how he longs to touch it, to trail kisses down it. The thought startles him; he stands up, suddenly uncomfortable in his skin.

And that’s when it hits him.

_His heart hurts as he is struck with his own mortality – how fragile he is – how every heartbeat, every breath, brings him closer to death –_

_The pain he feels is not physical, but mental; he screams in agony as his immortality is gone, ripped away from him –_

_But then! He sees himself! And at once he knows where he is, what has happened, and sure enough when he looks down he sees the telltale tattoos adorning his arms. In this vision he is Taeil, and Taeil is mortal. He hasn’t had anything stripped from him at all._

_He looks like a God: wings spread, shirtless from the waist up, but his expression is confused, worried. He feels Taeil’s heart racing so fast he fears it will stop, feels the human stumble backward so his back is against the wall. Immediately he realises where they are – they are in Jihoon’s apartment and, by the looks of things, Taeil has caught him unawares._

_“What_ are _you?” Taeil screams._

_He watches himself take a step closer, extend a hand, draw his wings closer. “I am the same Jihoon you have always known. This is who I am.”_

_“No.” Taeil moans, and, sobbing, turns and flees, his heart unable to comprehend what he is seeing before him, breaking in two. Jihoon and he had_ made love _and he still hadn’t known. Taeil had told him all his secrets, and now he finds out he is – he is –_

“Jihoon! Fuck, are you okay?” Taeil is hysterical, grabbing onto his arm so hard that his nails break the skin and draw blood. Still out of it, Jihoon stares abstractly as the wound wells up quickly, and then closes almost instantaneously. The human owes him a blood debt, now.

The truth of what he saw shudders through him. Taeil will catch him unawares in his own apartment, probably with a key that some future version of himself gives to him. He will have his wings out, and Taeil’s heart will break from the deception and shock. The thought of that sickens him and he gasps. “Bathroom.” He manages to groan.

As he stumbles to the tiny bathroom, led by Taeil, he brushes over the fact that, in that version of the future, he and Taeil had consummated their – their – whatever this is. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that fact or the tumultuous feelings it brings up in him, however, as he collapses onto the floor in front of the toilet and empties his stomach into it miserably, over and over.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” Taeil asks, crouching down and touching his back gently. He’s coated with a thin film of sweat, which is unusual – angels don’t get sick, generally, but sometimes his visions take a toll on him.

“No!” He says, his voice radiating power, shocking Taeil. “No, I’m alright now.” He adds, gently.

Taeil gets up and he hears the tap running. “That’s the second time you’ve done that to me, you know.”

“I know.” He mutters into the bowl. He is about to say something more when Taeil comes back to sit beside him and lays a cool washcloth on his forehead, and the bliss of that feeling shocks all words from him.

They sit like that silently for a few minutes, until the nausea passes completely and Jihoon sits up, his sweat beginning to evaporate. Leaning over to flush the toilet, he draws a hand over the back of his mouth and sighs. “I apologise.”

Taeil’s eyebrows raise. “For what, having a bad hangover? Don’t. I’ve had them before.”

A – a what? A hangover? Last night comes back to him in a rush and he smiles widely in relief. “Yes. I apologise for having a hangover.” He gestures towards the toilet. “And desecrating your bathroom.”

Taeil rolls his eyes but stands and helps Jihoon up, not unkindly. “You didn’t desecrate anything. If anything, we evened out. You took care of me last night, and I returned the favour now.”

“I will accept that.” He says, taking a few steps and finding his strength is returned.

Taeil rummages in the bathroom cabinet and finds him a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, and hands him some toothpaste. The kindness and thoughtfulness of this surprise gesture settles him, and he brushes his teeth thoroughly, washing away the taste of sickness.

Once he is done, he heads out into the large space of the apartment. He sits heavily on the sofa and reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. He feels Taeil’s eyes on him, watching him, and waits patiently for the mortal to speak.

“You scared me.” Taeil says, and his voice is so small that Jihoon thinks he imagines it, but when his head snaps up to look at Taeil, the human seems to have collapsed in on himself, arms wrapped around his own body as if seeking comfort.

The image is such a parallel of himself last night, seeking comfort in his wings, that he gets up from the sofa, crosses the room in two strides and pulls Taeil close to him, needing to give him solace the only way he knows how. He feels the shorter man sigh against his chest and he, too, relaxes, burying his head in Taeil’s hair.

“I am sorry.” He whispers to the top of Taeil’s head. “It was not my intention to frighten you. My bouts of nausea are often very acute.”

Shifting in his arms, Taeil looks up at him and as they look at each other, Jihoon can feel himself falling, falling deeper into Taeil; so he does what feels right, what comes naturally. He leans down and kisses Taeil gently, chastely, his hand caressing the human’s face.

Taeil pulls back slightly, his eyes wide. For a moment a terrible feeling sets upon Jihoon – he has read this all wrong! Taeil does not feel the same way! – but then, slowly, Taeil’s hand comes up to touch his lips, and then a flood breaks.

He does not know who reaches for who first, or who moves their head closest, only that they meet somewhere in the middle. This kiss is not chaste – it is fire and passion and heat, and Jihoon feels it sweep through him, making every nerve in his body tingle. Taeil’s tongue meets his and he groans into Taeil’s mouth, the waves of pleasure crashing over him now. He vaguely realises his hands are roaming, through Taeil’s hair and then down to stroke Taeil’s back, the soft expanse of skin he’d stared at not a half hour before. He feels the human’s hands flit up his belly, slide around his back underneath his t-shirt – up, up to just between his shoulder blades, where his wings come out –

He gasps, and pushes Taeil away gently; he’s never felt his wings so desperate to come out, so close to the skin, so _itchy_. “Taeil – ” he begins, unsure of what to say, where to start.

Taeil’s face turns sad, and he looks a little bit older as he takes a step back. “I’m sorry, Jihoon. That was out of order. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No!” Jihoon practically shouts, pulling Taeil back to him and kissing him hard. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

Breathless, his eyes shining, Taeil slides his arms around Jihoon’s waist and looks up at him. “What did you mean, then?”

“I mean that perhaps we should take things slowly.” Jihoon says, reaching up to touch Taeil’s face, still slightly amazed that he _can_. “I don’t want to rush this. I want to savour it.”

“I do too.” Taeil whispers, and leans up to kiss Jihoon. This kiss is slow burning and passionate; if the last kiss was a blazing bonfire, this is a spark, an ember; he feels it nestle somewhere inside him, warming him to the point where he swears he cannot take anymore.


	9. chapter nine

_one week later_

He’s only seen Taeil once in the whole week after he’d spent the night at his place, and that was only for a quick coffee at their favourite coffee shop. Jihoon was intentionally taking on more tasks at work, part out of guilt and partly to deliberately keep Taeil at arm’s length for a few days so he could breathe, refocus, and figure out the solution to his problem.

He has no intention of giving Taeil a key to his apartment, so he hopes that he has avoided the vision that way. But still, as the week passes, the issue swirls around and around in his head, evading the solution he so desperately seeks. He needs to tell Taeil, he knows that much – just because he has fallen for a human does not mean he suddenly gets to stop being an angel, stop upholding the good tenets of his faith, honesty being one of them.

He just has no idea how to broach the subject. Take him back to the church, point at the stained glass and say ‘I’m the same as her’? Sit down over a romantic dinner and let his wings unfurl? None of his ideas seem right, no words adequate, so he stays silent on the topic.

 _What are you doing today? I miss you._ His phone buzzes in his hand with a text from Taeil and he sighs, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. He hasn’t meant to hurt Taeil; that’s the last thing he wants to do. He just needed some space to think.

 _I miss you too. I am running an errand for a friend._ He types back, and then hesitates before adding: _Would you like to come?_

 _Yes! What are we doing?_ Taeil replies instantly, and Jihoon sends him the address. His job this morning is to deliver some herbs to another angel, who lives just outside Seoul; apparently, the herbs are quite rare and valuable, hence his escort. Whereas before he would snort at this job, knowing he is worthy of much more, today he conflicts of Heaven could not be further from his mind. He is seeing Taeil again! He will get to take the human into his arms and kiss every inch of him, see Taeil’s eyes upon him – and there is nothing he wants more on Heaven or Earth than that.

//

“Jihoon.” Taeil smiles up at him cordially as they meet outside a Starbucks, but when he hugs Jihoon his hands slip underneath Jihoon’s shirt to lie flat on his back, and the angel shudders with pleasure.

They are in public, so he can’t do much more than give Taeil’s hand a quick squeeze, but he lets his eyes communicate all the desires he cannot put words to. Taeil’s eyes widen in understanding, and his fingers clench around Jihoon’s.

“Where are we off to?” Taeil says, too loudly, as if by yelling he can disguise the blush rising on his cheeks.

Jihoon smiles down at him and drapes an arm around his shoulders – easily played off as friendly skinship to anyone who glances their way, but in reality, anything but. “Out of Seoul. I have to drop some ingredients off to a friend.”

They begin walking, and Jihoon wishes Taeil knew what he was so that he could call the darkness to shield them from everyone else’s eyes; but as it is he has to travel by mortal means. “Ingredients?” Taeil raises an eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“I honestly don’t know.” He replies, but fishes in his jacket pocket for the herbs, pulling them out and offering them to Taeil. “What are they?”

They’re wrapped up with white string, creating a neat little bundle; Taeil looks them over, smells them and shrugs. “Smells like lavender.”

“Lavender…” He muses, taking the herbs back and tucking them away.

He changes the subject after that, happy to listen to Taeil chatter away about nothing and everything; the mortal’s high, melodic voice is so easy to listen to, and Jihoon smiles happily, feeling on top of the world. After all, he’s with Taeil, the human he – he loves (his brain still stumbles over that fact; an eternity of immortality has him used to being alone), it’s a beautiful sunny day in Seoul, and it seems Heaven is smiling down on the two of them.

//

The exchange goes safely and they decide to get the subway back, rather than paying an exorbitant amount of money for a taxi. Not that it matters, Jihoon muses – Heaven’s accounts are bottomless.

They sit in silence on the train, Jihoon with his nose buried in a book, Taeil playing some sort of fish-themed video game on his mobile phone. He’s so captivated by his novel that Taeil has to lead him from the train and into the subway station; he looks up and the world falls away.

“This is where we first met.” Taeil murmurs, hovering close to him.

He blinks, and he’s transported back to that day. Taeil’s hair is a little longer now, and he’s not wearing his glasses, and his outfit is different – but otherwise it could be the same. There’s the same mix of businessmen, rushing to get to work, and schoolchildren, rushing to get to school. But still there’s something – something _different_ about this time, and he doesn’t just mean because he has fallen, totally and completely, for the human he’d met that day. His wings are hurting, and his skin feels like it’s crawling with bugs – a sweet, pleasurable feeling that makes his skin itch. He sniffs and smells, above the rest of the scents of mortals and metal and sweat, sulphur, and that’s when he knows.

Not caring who sees, he slides his hand down to grasp Taeil by the wrist and pulls him close so they’re chest to chest; Taeil opens his mouth to protest but he ignores it, channelling his power to draw darkness to shield the both of them. To mortal eyes, they simply vanish – but it’s not mortal eyes he’s worried about.

“Jihoon. What are you doing?” Taeil pleads nervously. He can’t see that they’re invisible, but he knows something’s wrong.

A demon. There’s a demon somewhere in the subway station with them, and he can’t tell who it is or what their intentions are, but he knows they will have sensed him, too. Far from being grotesque creatures with horns and tails, devils look exactly like him: mortal. Human. But he would know as soon as he laid eyes on them, so he continues scanning the crowd, his grip on Taeil’s wrist steady.

Whatever happens he knows he must not lose control. His wings are causing his eyes to water with their desire to burst free, but still he holds strong. Taeil _cannot_ know. Not like this. So he stays, and waits, scanning the crowd to see the demon that he knows is coming for him.

And the world falls away and there’s nothing but him and Taeil and the – and the thing that is approaching him. He knew this would happen one day, he knew it would, but still he had faith: faith in his God and in coincidence that they would never meet again. His heart cannot bear the pain as he realises his faith was misplaced.

Samkiel weaves through the crowd, heading directly towards him, his eyes piercing the darkness that surrounds them. Jihoon, too, can see that he has called light as a shield; the three of them are invisible.

 _Normal! Be normal. Remember Taeil._ The warning whispers through his mind and is gone, and he steps forward with a smile, offering his hand to Samkiel to shake, trying not to shudder.

Samkiel looks the same, but that is to be expected – he was always vain, taking pride in the skin he wore. It makes sense that he would keep it. He has a round face and narrow eyes that always reminded Jihoon of cat’s; it doesn’t help that they are a curious shade of green that’s almost yellow if you look at them in the right light. His black hair is long and sleek and tied in a low ponytail. But as Jihoon looks closer, he can tell that this Samkiel is not the same Samkiel he knew; this one is harder, more angular. Evil wreaths him, and as he gets closer and closer, Jihoon trembles with the terrible, sweet pain that washes over him.

“Jihoon. How nice to see you again!” Samkiel cries, taking his hand and shaking it enthusiastically, but Jihoon can see through his lies. His smile is cruel, his handshake crushing the bones in Jihoon’s hand, making a few fracture in his grip. “And who is this?”

“Taeil, meet my… Friend, Samkiel.” He pauses before saying the word, hoping that Taeil will remember the words he spoke at the bar the other night – _I have many ex-friends and enemies_ – and is relieved when Taeil winks at him and steps forward.

“Nice to meet you, Samkiel.” Taeil nods his head at the demon respectfully.

Samkiel nods back, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Consorting with the enemy now, are we, Jihoon?” He tuts, shaking his head back and forth. “Now, now. You know that’s forbidden. You must be careful.”

Biting back the response he really wants to say – _you are the enemy! Not Taeil!_ – he simply tilts his head and looks puzzled. “Old friend, what on earth are you talking about?”

A glint of anger flashes in Samkiel’s eyes, and Jihoon’s wings itch to break free. “Playing dumb, are we? He doesn’t know what you are, then.” His hand comes up to stroke his chin in an almost-caricature of a villain from a human movie. “Interesting.”

“I know what he is.” Taeil says, taking a slight step forward, eyes blazing. “He’s mine.”

 _Mortals!_ They never fail to surprise him. Here is Taeil, facing off against a demon (not that he knows that) without fear. Jihoon has no doubt Taeil thinks this is one of his old, possibly crazy, friends. He bites back a smile and places a hand on Taeil’s shoulder, restraining and comforting at the same time.

“You’d do well to control your pet, Jihoon.” Samkiel spits, and Jihoon feels a wave of power wash over him. To Taeil, he adds, “I have no interest in who Jihoon belongs to.”

“Then what do you want, old friend?” Jihoon asks sadly. “To cause trouble, it seems.”

Samkiel winks at him. “It is my job, after all. Chaos is my closest companion.”

Jihoon just shakes his head sadly, his heart hurting at what his best friend has become. When an angel falls they become a demon, and all the good within them is replaced with evil and darkness and bitterness – it becomes their life force. Their goal is mirrored – whereas before they were to defend Heaven, now they are to defend Hell, as well as create as much chaos as they can, tempt as many souls to sin as they can. Samkiel was probably passing through the area; considering he’s not outright attacking Jihoon, he is simply curious. Jihoon hopes.

“Begone, foul creature.” He booms, his voice ringing with power, suddenly sick of this farce. “You have no power here.”

Samkiel takes a step closer and, where the light surrounding him meets the darkness surrounding them, Jihoon can see the air ripple and crack. “Do not speak to me like that. I have more power than you could ever dream of.” He hisses, his mouth contorted into anger.

“I don’t wish to use power such as yours.” He replies honestly, and Samkiel laughs, stepping backwards, his anger seemingly gone.

He shrugs, palms up in a placating gesture. “Fine. I shall leave you to the path you are following. You need no help from me to Fall.” He sneers, turning to Taeil. “Ask him about his wings, won’t you, friend?”

And then he turns and walks out of Jihoon’s life for the second time.

For every step that Samkiel moves away, the sweet pain fades and the itch between his shoulder blades disappears, until he feels safe enough to bid darkness goodbye, blinking them back into existence again. He’s sweating, he realises belatedly as he drags his hand across his forehead.

He looks down at Taeil and sighs, seeing the mortal backed away from him, staring at him with questions in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Taeil. Samkiel is an… old friend of mine.”

The human just stares back at him, not saying anything, not speaking, not touching Jihoon, and his heart feels heavy in his chest as he knows. Taeil deserves the truth.

“Come on. Let’s go home. I have many things to tell you.” He sighs wearily, heading for the exit to the subway station, hoping that Taeil will follow.


	10. chapter ten

“Would you like some tea?” He calls from the kitchen.

Taeil, who was wandering around his apartment, has come to a stop in front of his _Paradise Lost_ print, and is staring at it, lost in thought. “Yes, please.” He calls back over his shoulder, voice hushed.

Obediently, Jihoon pours them both a cup of tea and brings it into the living room, gesturing for Taeil to take a seat on the sofa, folding onto the floor on the other side of the coffee table, a mirror of how he was all those months ago with Youngja. He waits for Taeil to wrap his hands around his cup and take a sip, certain that the mortal will need something in his stomach for this news.

“I’m going to tell you something, Taeil.” He begins, lifting his eyes to meet the other man’s. “I want you to know that I cannot lie. It is physically impossible for me. Even if I wanted to, I could not. Everything I say here is truth; everything I have ever said to you is truth.” Taeil’s eyebrows raise, but he takes a deep breath and continues.

And he tells.

He tells everything.

He tells Taeil of the beginning, of the Old Times, when knowledge was kept from humans and the world was free of sin; he tells of Eve’s failing, of how God wept. He tells him of Heaven, which is where he spent most of his time in those days. He tells him of his names, of his faces; he tells Taeil of being brought before God and being told that he was needed on Earth, all those millennia ago. He tells of his battles, his conquests, his defeats. He tells of demons, of angels, of vampires and succubi and imps and all manner of supernatural beings. He tells of meeting Samkiel, of the joy of finally having a best friend who was like he, apathetic and disillusioned with the world. He tells of Samkiel’s fall, how he fell for power. He tells how he wept for days, the anger at having his best friend taken away from him overwhelming him. He tells of his subsequent move away from Seoul, and then back again two decades later; he tells of his vision, of the church. He tells Taeil about how he knew, the moment he locked eyes with the mortal, that this was something new. He tells everything. He bares his soul.

Taeil looks at him. It’s night now – hours have passed, he realises. He had got up and refilled their tea a few times, but otherwise they haven’t moved. And Taeil still looks at him.

“You’re lying.” Taeil says, but his voice is shaky. Jihoon can tell the clues are adding up in his head, the evidence outweighing his scepticism. “Please tell me you’re lying. Please tell me you’re lying so I can go back to loving you and being normal.”

Jihoon’s heart stops at the word _love_ but, sadly, he stands up and, shucking off his shirt, lets his wings burst free, like they’ve been itching to do since he first saw Samkiel in the train station. He spreads them wide and covers his face with his hands, hiding in shame, hiding his tears. He isn’t normal. He can’t give Taeil a normal life; this is what he is, what he has been since the beginning of time, what he will forever be.

“You cannot have a normal life with me, Taeil.” He chokes out, wrapping his wings around him so he’s blanketed in feathers. “I can’t give you that.”

Taeil looks like his heart is breaking in two as he takes a step closer, staring at his wings. “I know.”

Just ‘I know’. No placations, no reassurances. He feels a sob erupt from his throat and turns, needing to feel the wind on his face as his wings carry him away from here, away from this painful rejection – when Taeil speaks.

“Wait.” He says, and then Jihoon feels his hand on his back.

Taeil’s small hand moves, slowly, up from his hips, up and up until it reaches the spot where his wings erupt from the skin, just between his shoulderblades. He feels the human take a step closer and lets out a shaky breath as Taeil’s hand splays, right on the base of his wings.

No one has ever touched him like this before.

And then Taeil’s hand moves to actually _touch_ his wing and he groans, hand coming up to clap over his mouth. It feels so _good_ , he can’t help it, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut as Taeil’s fingers brush down the entire length of his wing – which is still wrapped around him, so Taeil ends up giving him a back hug, his face buried in his feathers.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Jihoon not moving, not daring to break the fragile peace of the moment. Taeil is so _warm_ and whenever he shifts slightly it sends a wave of sensations through him via his wings, making his breath hitch in his throat.

Finally, Taeil speaks. “Normal is overrated anyway.” He mumbles.

Jihoon smiles and turns, drawing the other man into his arms and wrapping his wings around them both. He sees Taeil’s eyes widen at being surrounded by an ocean of fluffy feathers. “Taeil, I mean what I say.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “You will be drawn into a world beyond what you can imagine if you stay.”

Taeil looks up at him, and he smiles, hesitantly. “But I’ll be with you.”

He nods. “Yes. You will be with me.”

A dam breaks between the both of them – he feels it at once. Taeil pulls his head down and kisses him furiously and Jihoon responds, gasping into Taeil’s mouth as Taeil’s hand skims over the feathers of his wings. He walks Taeil backwards until he’s pressed up against the wall and peppers kisses on his lips, his cheek, his neck, his collarbones, leaving Taeil gasping, hand fisting in his hair. He’s never had lust burn through him like this, setting him alight from the inside out, and now he knows why consorting with humans is forbidden. If every angel knew they could feel like _this_ …

He rips Taeil’s shirt open, watching it flutter to the floor between them, and then presses his hands against Taeil’s stomach, feeling the warmth of him, how solid he is. Taeil groans, leaning his head back, eyes fluttering shut. Jihoon can see his pulse in his neck, how his fingers are twitching at Jihoon’s touch and thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

And then Taeil is pulling him close again so their bodies are flush and hot, their chests pressed up against one another, all the skin contact making him feel light headed. And then Taeil’s hand moves to his belt and undoes it slowly and he freezes, time falling away.

“Taeil.” He murmurs, covering Taeil’s hands with his own. “I’ve never…”

Taeil raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Never?”

“Never. It is forbidden.” He says honestly.

Taeil nods and takes his hands away, fisting them at his sides awkwardly, looking down. “Then we shouldn’t.”

He slides a hand around Taeil’s waist and pulls him close, staring down at him, eyes blazing. “No.” He growls hoarsely. “I want to.”

There’s no talking after that as Taeil’s mouth closes on his and they move together, Taeil rutting against him desperately, their passion being taken to the next level of intensity. Taeil’s hand goes for his fly but he shakes his head and, effortlessly, scoops up Taeil and carries him to the bedroom, flinging him down on the bed and crawling on top of him. Jihoon has never felt this predatory, this _voracious_ before – but there is a need in him that he somehow knows Taeil can quell.

This time when Taeil reaches for his fly he doesn’t stop him; he instead helps him, shucking out of his clothes and helping Taeil with his until they’re both completely naked. When Taeil’s hand closes around his cock he whines, his wings shifting, completely unprepared for the pleasure this simple touch can bring. Taeil’s teeth sink into his neck and his hand strokes faster and he realises he has finally found something better than flying.

“Let me touch you.” He whispers, his hand reaching down between them to skim over Taeil’s belly, his touch feather-light as he fists his hand on Taeil’s dick, unsure of what he’s doing.

This is an entirely new experience for him, so he mimics Taeil’s movements, watching with wide eyes as Taeil gasps and shudders and moans at his touch. He never knew he could _feel_ like this – he thought he was unable to feel sexual pleasure. But oh, god, Taeil’s hand starts moving faster and harder and he realises what he’s been missing out on.

He feels heat pooling, low in his belly, like a build up of _something_ that’s coming on fast. His wings stretch and flap and he feels like he’s about to explode –

“Not so fast, Jihoon.” Taeil whispers throatily in his ear, taking his hand away and stroking Jihoon’s hair.

Jihoon rolls over so he’s on top of Taeil and continues stroking. “I want you.” He growls, surprised at the fierceness in his voice.

“Oh, god, yes.” Taeil moans, his nails digging into Jihoon’s back, voice slipping up an octave.

Jihoon pauses and cocks his head, making Taeil look up at him with a puzzled expression on his face. Sighing, he collapses on top of Taeil, burying his head in the hollow of his neck to try and hide his blush. “I want you, but I don’t know how…”

“Sorry, Jihoonie.” Taeil says, kissing him on the cheek. “I forgot you’re new to this. It’s pretty instinctual.”

“I don’t think I _have_ those instincts.” He says honestly, and feels Taeil’s laugh rather than hears it.

“You sure about that?” Taeil whispers, his voice taking on a husky tone, his lips skimming Jihoon’s shoulder.

He’s _not_ sure – he has no idea what he’s doing, and it terrifies and thrills him at the same time. So he rolls over, pulling Taeil on top of him, and kisses him long and slow and passionately until they’re both gasping and rutting on each other. With every slow roll of his hips, he hears Taeil’s moans, feels him shudder, feels the heat swim through his limbs until his brain is foggy and focused on one thing: pleasure.

“Lube!” Taeil gasps out. “Lube. We need lube. I can’t take much more of this.”

Jihoon sits up and shifts backwards, putting space between them. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Taeil says breathlessly. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” And then he gets up and leaves the room, returning with a small bottle clutched in his fist.

He crawls over and kisses Jihoon, one small hand curling in his hair and tugging gently. “Are you sure you want this? We can wait.”

“I need you, Taeil.” He finds himself saying, voice gravelly and low. “Please.”

Taeil smiles against his lips. “Okay. Sit up against the head of the bed.”

He obeys, watching with bated breath as Taeil trails a line of kisses down his chest, onto his belly, past his belly button and then he takes Jihoon into his mouth and _fuck_ , Jihoon’s never sworn before, not in an eternity, but he finds himself saying the word out loud helplessly as Taeil’s tongue swirls around his cock, the sensations buffeting him.

Abruptly Taeil’s mouth is gone and he opens his eyes just in time to yelp as Taeil drips the lube all over him, the cold making his fingers clench. “Sorry.” Taeil mutters, stroking Jihoon quickly, bending to press a quick kiss to his collarbone.

And then Taeil’s crawling on top of him, positioning himself. He waits until Jihoon looks at him, touches Jihoon on the cheek gently and slowly – ever so slowly – lowers himself onto Jihoon. He throws his head back and Jihoon focuses on the line of his throat and the angle of his jaw, breathing steadily. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around Taeil’s waist, wrapping his wings around them both, closing his eyes as Taeil begins to move.

“Christ.” He breathes and Taeil laughs, although it is a rather strained sounding laugh.

“Just because you’re inside me doesn’t mean you can blaspheme.” He scolds. “You’re still – ah!” He moans, interrupted by Jihoon thrusting upwards with wide eyes.

And then Taeil’s hand finds the short feathers at the base of his wings and _tugs_ and he loses himself completely, thrusting harder and faster as Taeil fucks himself on Jihoon’s cock. He bites and scratches and moans and whines, completely unused to these feelings of pleasure rippling through his body. He feels one with Taeil and as the human kisses him messily, moaning into his open mouth, he realises their souls are one and the same, interchangeable. This is what he was made for, this is what he was made to do, he is Taeil and Taeil is him and they are immortal and mortal all at once.

His eyes roll back in his head and he keens wordlessly with pleasure, finding his humanity all at once.


	11. chapter eleven

“Jihoonie.” Taeil whispers.

It’s the middle of the night and they’re laying on Jihoon’s bed, spent and sweaty and exhausted. He’s wrapped around Taeil, his enormous wings acting as a blanket, keeping them warm. He blinks his way out from sleep – he’d just been starting to drift off – and props himself up on an elbow.

“What is it?”

Taeil shifts to face him, his eyes worried. “What’s going to happen to you?”

He shrugs sadly. “I don’t know. I haven’t met anyone else like this.” He looks to the window, sees that it’s still dark. “I do know that Heaven doesn’t judge anyone at night. The light of day will bring us answers.”

“Okay.” Taeil says, smiling. He presses a quick kiss to Jihoon’s lips and lies back down.

Jihoon wishes he shares Taeil’s optimism as he lies down as well, drawing his wings close. He can only live in the present, however, and focus on what he has: Taeil, who is his from here on out. Their love is strong and true and he has faith that it can survive whatever the dawn brings.

_forward_

_As he falls, the wind making his eyes stream tears, the phantom pain of his missing wings stabbing through him, his soul is torn from him. It is ripped, layer by layer, piece by piece; stripping back every single one of his names, of his faces, all torn relentlessly to the wind until he is nothing but Seraphiel, nothing but his true self, the name he has not known for an eternity, hurtling downwards._

_“I fell for love!” He screams to the wind, sobs erupting from him. “I fell for_ love! _”_

_No one is listening._

 

_ fin _


	12. epilogue

“Jihoon?” He calls, letting himself in the apartment with the key that Jihoon had left him. It’s around midday and when he’d left earlier to get lunch Jihoon had still been sleeping peacefully, but as he pads to the bedroom he finds the bed empty.

Shrugging, he heads back to the kitchen and sticks the food in the fridge. Jihoon has probably gone flying – he’d told Taeil last night that he feels claustrophobic if he doesn’t do it often. Or he’s been called away on urgent angel business. Either way he isn’t concerned so he takes a chocolate milk and sits on the lounge, flicking on the television. He doesn’t have anywhere to be today, so he may as well relax here until Jihoon gets back.

He watches two movies in a row and then looks up and sees the time. Hours have passed and he hasn’t heard a word from Jihoon, not even a text. Worry starts to creep in, now. Perhaps he’s been dragged to Heaven to face a tribunal or court or whatever happens to angels who fuck up. Who knows how they deal with that?

He hears a noise from the bedroom and his head snaps around, heart starting to race. Jihoon had assured him that Samkiel wouldn't come looking for them, but still, memories of the cruel demon flit through his head – such a direct contrast to his Jihoon, so open and loving, that he shivers as he gets up and tiptoes towards the bedroom, sticking his head around the doorframe.

Someone is standing there, looking out the window, and he blinks – they have Jihoon’s height, Jihoon’s black hair, but he looks again and sees huge black wings, their tips brushing the floor, and his heart runs cold. He opens his mouth to yell for Jihoon – it’s useless, really, since the angel is probably nowhere near here, but his instincts tell him to – when the figure turns and his heart stops.

It’s Jihoon, looking harder, skinnier, more angular. The giant black wings shift with the rustling of feathers, their colour so deep and dark Taeil can’t look at them properly, but he is more struck by the cruelness that wreaths Jihoon like an aura – the same cruelness he knows he would see if he was to see Samkiel again. He starts to shake his head, tears pooling in his eyes, unable to comprehend the horrible sight in front of his eyes. Surely this is a lie, a trick, surely this isn’t real –

“Hello Taeil.” Jihoon says with a grin.

 

 _Not being good enough for you is a sin I committed against you_  
_Not being able to go on without you is a sin I committed_  
_If only you come to me, I can do anything_  
**Stellar - Mask**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time I finish a big fic like this, I love to say "it's my best work yet!!". But I really mean it this time; I'm really, really proud of this fic.
> 
> And yes! Before you ask, there WILL be a sequel. I'm not finished with angel!Jihoon (well, demon!Jihoon now) and Taeil. They have lots more in store, I suspect...
> 
> Here is some more information on things mentioned in the story: [the print in Jihoon's apartment](http://artpedia.tumblr.com/post/20207552147/gustave-dor%C3%A9-the-heavenly-hosts-1866), [Jihoon's prayer](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Te_Deum), [Jihoon's true name](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seraphiel).


End file.
